Page 197 of Holding On To Good

That he hadn’t gone too far when she’d been on her knees.

Gently taking her chin between his thumb and forefinger, he lifted her head. Bent so they were eye-to-eye. “Willow. Did I hurt you?”

She blinked, more moisture falling from her eyes. “No.” She sniffed. Stepped back so that he was forced to stop touching her. “It’s not that. I promise.”

But even seeing the truth in her eyes, hearing it in her voice, did little to relieve the pressure building in his chest.

Sniffing again, she crossed her arms over her bare breasts. Kept her gaze on the floor. “I need a shirt.”

Right. Because he’d been so desperate, so wild to get to her, he’d torn hers in two like a goddamn animal, then let his dog use her bra as a chew toy.

Forgoing his boxer briefs, he yanked on his jeans, leaving them undone as he crossed to his closet and pulled out a faded Penn State sweatshirt. Offered it to her, knowing the moment she put it on, she’d be out his door.

Which was why he tightened his hold when she tried to tug it from his hand.

“Stay,” he said, when her gaze flew to his.

He shouldn’t push her. He’d already fucked up, surprising her with dinner that way. Made her nervous of his intentions.

Wary of his endgame.

Even though it felt to him like they were moving so sluggish they might as well be standing still, he should slow down even more. Take the time to figure out the best way to ease her into the idea of them being together. He had to be smart. Patient. He had to—

She shook her head again, yanking his sweatshirt free.

He had to figure out a way to get her to spend one goddamn night with him.

“It’s still early,” he said, watching as she tugged his shirt on. It was boxy on her, the hem hitting just below her ass. “I’ll build a fire,” he continued, knowing how much she enjoyed one on a warm summer’s night. “We’ll open another bottle of wine…”

“I can’t,” she said, her tears slowing but not stopping. “I’m sorry, but I… I just can’t…”

A sick sensation rose in his throat. He tried to swallow it down, but it remained, thick and greasy. His previous fears were back with a vengeance, lodged under his breastbone like a knife.

“I can’t do this,” she whispered and that knife sliced, cutting him deep. “We can’t do this. Not anymore.”

This wasn’t just her putting some distance between them. Wasn’t just about him spending another night alone. Wasn’t about him pushing her for too much. Wasn’t about her fearing they’d be discovered or keeping their friendship intact.

It was the end.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Willow steeled herself against the way Urban went absolutely still, his face leeching of color. She didn’t want to hurt him, but this had to be done. Now.

They’d already let this last too long. Had taken it too far.

Ending it was going to be painful for them both, but the sooner they accepted it was over, the sooner they could both move on from it. The sooner they could get back to how they used to be.

But knowing all of that didn’t make it any easier. Or stop her damn tears from still falling.

“Spell it out for me.”

Startled at the intensity in his low voice, the harshness, she blinked. “What?”

“Spell it out for me,” he repeated, his lips barely moving. “What you’re saying. What you mean.”

Irritation pinched the base of her spine which, she had to admit, helped with that pesky crying problem as her tears finally slowed. She wiped the wetness from her cheeks with her sleeves, but even through her blurry vision, she could see Urban’s stubbornness was kicking in. The hurt in his eyes replaced with determination. His jaw tight, mouth pressed into a firm line.

Waiting for her response, he seemed to grow bigger, taller, his spine lengthening, his shoulders going back. He widened his stance, crossing his arms over his bare chest, but unlike when she’d done the same thing only moments ago, he wasn’t hiding himself. Wasn’t cowering.

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